Immortal (5 page)

Oppenheimer ground the cigar out on the palm of his hand, and with a flick of one hooked finger sent the smoldering remains spinning over the taffrail and into the crystalline water below.

‘Thank God for democracy,’ Wolfe murmured.

‘I will obtain these materials one way or the other, sooner or later, regardless of what anyone may try to do to stop me. You must ensure in any way you can that congressional and military
oversight of the pharmaceutical industry is limited and that if we fail to achieve support from the United Nations, we take the necessary steps to achieve our goal alone. I take it that
you’ll obtain the infected tissue before traveling to New York?’

Wolfe sighed, seemingly weighed down by the gravity of what they were considering.

‘Can you ensure secrecy?’ he finally asked.

‘Officially you will be staying here upon this vessel overnight as my guest,’ Oppenheimer replied softly. ‘However, I will have one of my private jets fly you north to Alaska
immediately and then across to New York afterwards. Nobody need ever know you were there. What of your man at the site?’

‘He’s a freelance worker, and I will deal with him,’ Wolfe said, ‘for the greater good. By the time I reach New York every trace of his existence will have
disappeared.’ Oppenheimer nodded slowly as though accepting the inevitable. Wolfe continued, ‘We must keep any deaths to a minimum, at least for now. Later there’ll be blood, one
way or the other.’

‘There always is,’ Oppenheimer agreed, ‘but at least there’ll be profit, and nobody really cares about a handful of hobos in a pissy little backwater like the New Mexico
desert. They’ll be better off with the revenue generated by SkinGen anyway, it’ll bring some light into their miserable lives.’

Wolfe stood, replacing his shades and walking away from the old man. Oppenheimer called after him as he disappeared into the interior of the yacht.

‘This is a good thing. It’s a brighter future for a county that has nothing to export but illegal immigrants and bird flu! They’ll thank us both one day, if there’s any
of them left.’

Ethan stepped off the United Express Embraer E-170 onto the asphalt of the airport, the sun hot against his skin after the cooler winds of Illinois. Behind him, Lopez shielded
her eyes.

‘Like being on vacation,’ she remarked.

Ethan hoped that Lopez was in a better mood now that their travels had brought them into territory that was more like home, even though Guanajuato was actually six hundred miles south of the
border. Lopez had rarely gotten this far south since her family had given up on their dreams of a better life in the United States and returned to their homeland.

A uniformed officer approached them, extending a hand to Ethan.

‘Enrico Zamora,’ he said. ‘You must be Ethan Warner.’

Ethan introduced him to Lopez, and then the lieutenant led them out of the airport to a marked Dodge Charger, filling them in on the case and his own disappointments as they drove away.

‘The whole thing was way out of our league, so we passed everything on to the FBI. That’s when this Doug Jarvis guy got involved, and we were all asked to sign non-disclosure
agreements. You wanna let me know what the hell that’s all about? Most interesting case in twenty years of service and it’s snatched away from me; we don’t hear a thing about the
autopsy and nobody will even tell me who you guys work for.’

‘Standard procedure,’ Ethan said, looking at the barren wilderness of New Mexico flashing by as they drove. ‘Our employers just like to remain discreet. We don’t want a
media circus out here.’

Zamora shrugged, and ran the fingers of one hand through his hair.

‘I understand that, but it tweaks ma curiosity a little. What’s so important that you want it kept under wraps?’

‘Maybe you could help us with that,’ Lopez said from the rear seat. ‘We don’t have much to go on, that’s why we’re here. All we have are the social security
details of this Hiram Conley and another name, Tyler Willis. What’s the story with them both?’

Zamora seemed to shiver despite the warmth, shifting his shoulders as he drove.

‘I don’t never want to see that man Conley again as long as I live. Came rushing at me out of the woods looking like a living skeleton, all his skin and things hanging in tatters
from his arms.’

‘Some kind of disease, maybe?’ Ethan suggested, looking at the distant mountains and wondering if some horrible virus lurked somewhere out there in the lonely deserts.

‘I’ll say.’ Zamora nodded. ‘Looked like he was falling apart where he stood, but the strange thing was that he ran like a man half his age. I was lucky to shoot him
before he got me with that goddamn bayonet of his.’

Lopez raised an eyebrow.

‘He charged you with a
bayonet
?’

‘Ain’t never seen nothin’ like it,’ Zamora said. ‘We had the weapon checked out by the crime lab: the damned thing was an antique. They identified it as a Model
1842 Springfield .69 caliber percussion-lock musket, which was the last of the smooth-bore models made with a thicker barrel. They were rifled sometime after manufacture to take the conically
shaped Minie Ball, the same type of bullet found in Hiram Conley, so I was led to believe.’

Ethan glanced back at Lopez before speaking.

‘And the weapon isn’t a remake, or a copy?’

‘Only about six thousand of that specific type were made,’ Zamora said, ‘and modern copies for re-enactment groups are easily spotted. This was the real deal, no doubt about
it, weighed ten pounds and was damn near five feet long.’

‘Was it a type used during the Civil War?’ Lopez asked.

‘Sure was.’ Zamora nodded. ‘One of the earliest, although the repeatin’ rifles followed pretty soon after, so I’m told.’

‘Did this guy Conley say anything to you at the scene?’ Ethan asked, looking out across the passing wilderness and imagining what it must have been like for a Union army marching and
surviving in such brutal terrain for weeks and months on end.

‘Sure he did, but most of it was kind of garbled. He kept talkin’ about the Union, and the New Mexico Militia, stuff like that. I had the guys check out the references, and there was
a New Mexico Militia working out this way during the Civil War, but that was a hundred and fifty years ago. We put it all down to this guy being a fantasist of some kind.’

‘Then how’d he get the uniform and the weapon?’ Lopez asked.

‘I’m not saying they weren’t genuine,’ Zamora admitted. ‘Only that he must have lived out in the Pecos for years, maybe as part of a commune or something. From what
we could gather he had little documentation and no fixed abode, so he’s been living rough for years. For all we know there could be others like him out there.’

‘What about this other guy, Tyler Willis?’ Ethan asked.

Zamora waved a hand in the air as if in desperation and then ran it through the tight coils of his hair.

‘Tyler ain’t talking; says he was just hiking in the hills when he was confronted by Hiram Conley, who got in his face and started screaming. Given that Conley opened fire on both
Willis and the tourists, I’m inclined to believe him, but . . .’

‘But you’re not sure,’ Lopez finished the sentence for him.

‘The ranger who was leading the tourists said it was an argument Willis and Conley were having, both of them going at each other. Willis was injured and, as the victim, I can hardly arrest
him, but I’m sure there’s something he’s not telling me. Maybe you guys will have more luck.’

‘Where can we find him?’ Ethan inquired.

‘He was in hospital with a shrapnel wound to the shoulder but he discharged himself this morning, claiming he had to get back to work. Turns out he’s a researcher at the laboratories
up Los Alamos way, some kind of high-flying scientist or other.’

Ethan had heard of the famous Los Alamos National Laboratories, where some of the most extraordinary discoveries of the last century had been made. The home of the original Manhattan Project,
which had culminated in the dawn of the atomic age when the United States had dropped atom bombs on Imperial Japan to bring a close to World War Two, the laboratories concerned themselves now with
advanced technologies in all theaters of scientific endeavor.

‘You got any idea what this guy Willis is researching?’ Ethan asked.

‘Beats me.’ Zamora chuckled. ‘Most of what he told me went straight over my head and right out of the park. But it was something to do with medicine.’

Ethan looked at Lopez.

‘We’ll start with him,’ he said. ‘Right now there’s not much else to go on.’

‘What about Hiram Conley’s social security number?’ Lopez asked Zamora. ‘You guys got a town hall down here or something, some way we could backtrack the
records?’

‘Town hall would probably have something tucked away some place, and Santa Fe County offices might have records. Trouble is getting anything concrete about this guy. Last I heard he went
by several names, and any one of them could be false or real.’

‘Tyler Willis is still our best bet for now,’ Ethan said. ‘We’ll start digging through records once we’ve got a better idea of why Conley was so
important.’

Enrico Zamora chuckled as he pulled the cruiser into a parking lot filled with rental vehicles, stopping outside the reception area where an old Mercury Tracer sedan awaited them.

‘Well, good luck with that.’

‘I’m sure he’s not that bad,’ Lopez said as she reached for the door.

‘He’s not bad,’ Zamora agreed, ‘but he sure ain’t on this planet.’

‘What do you mean?’ Ethan asked.

‘He’s one of those who’s all for crazy talk,’ Zamora said quietly. ‘Willis said that he was delirious an’ all from lack of blood on account of his shoulder
wound, but I was with him up there on the pass and he spoke plainly enough to me.’

‘What did he say?’ Ethan pressed.

Zamora shook his head slowly as if still struggling to understand. Ethan watched him run his hand through his hair again, and wondered if doing so was a nervous reaction of some kind for the
officer.

‘Just before I shot Conley, Tyler Willis was begging me not to fire, tellin’ me not to shoot the old man.’

‘Why?’ Lopez asked. ‘Surely he’d have wanted Conley dead after what happened.’

‘So you’d suppose,’ Zamora agreed.

Ethan thought for a moment.

‘You said that the ranger who reported the shooting said that Willis and Conley were arguing up on the pass, and then Conley shot Willis at close range.’

‘That’s what he told me,’ Zamora confirmed. ‘What of it?’

‘If they were arguing, then they can’t have been that far apart,’ Ethan said. ‘Conley couldn’t have missed Willis with a rifle, not at such close range.’

‘What are you saying?’ Zamora asked.

‘That Conley purposefully didn’t shoot to kill,’ Ethan said. ‘For whatever reason he didn’t want to kill Willis, and that means he either wanted something from him
or he wanted to learn something.’

‘Willis could have grabbed the rifle and turned it aside before the shot was fired,’ Lopez said.

‘Maybe,’ Zamora replied. ‘But that rifle had a fourteen-inch bayonet on it. I wouldn’t have risked grabbing it.’

Ethan opened his door, letting hot air puff into the air-conditioned cruiser.

‘Thanks for the ride, Enrico. If you remember anything else, you’ve got our number.’

‘Sure,’ Zamora said. ‘There’s one other thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The last thing Tyler Willis said to me before I fired at Conley was the darndest thing I ever did hear. He said not to kill Conley because he was too old to die. You make any sense of
that?’

Lopez looked at Ethan, who glanced again at the ranger.

‘Probably the sun got to him.’

Ethan shut his door before Zamora could answer.

‘Hell of a place,’ Lopez said.

Ethan nodded, looking around at the ranks of buildings and the names of the roads as he drove through the complex, which looked like an oversized industrial park. The 502 East Road had led them
onto Trinity Drive, named after the famous atomic tests. Ethan had already spotted various signs such as Bikini Road, named after Bikini Atoll where further nuclear tests were made in the 1950s.
Run by the Department of Energy and with an annual budget of $2.2 billion, it was one of only two places in the United States where research into classified nuclear programs was performed.

‘It’s the largest employer in northern New Mexico,’ Ethan said as he drove the Mercury into the parking lot outside the Bio-Science Division building. ‘Whatever Tyler
Willis is up to in here, it almost certainly has something to do with Hiram Conley.’

Lopez nodded, scanning the file that Douglas Jarvis had handed them back in Chicago.

‘Tyler Adam Willis, born 1978, Modesto, California. Studied microbiology at the University of California before joining a research team at Los Alamos. Recently published several papers
detailing the results of studies into senescence.’

‘In English, please,’ Ethan said as they parked.

‘Another term for aging,’ Lopez said. ‘Looks like our boy knows his stuff when it comes to cheating death. According to this he’s considered one of the brightest talents
in the field of cellular senescence.’

Ethan killed the engine and looked up at the imposing building before them.

‘You really think that’s why he was shot?’ Ethan asked her. ‘Something to do with his research?’

‘Why not? Maybe this isn’t just a freaky ghost story and he found some kind of potion that extends lifespans.’

Ethan got out of the car and walked toward the entrance, followed by Lopez. A clean, sparse entrance hall greeted them, occupied by a narrow desk and a bored-looking receptionist. Ethan walked
up to her, leaning against the counter and flashing a smile.

‘Hi, we’re here to see Tyler Willis.’

‘Do you have an appointment?’ the girl asked, taking in Ethan’s rough-edged appearance and apparently liking what she saw.

‘We’re here on behalf of the Santa Fe Police Department, Lieutenant Enrico Zamora,’ Ethan said smoothly. ‘Nothing to worry about: Tyler was injured in an incident a
couple of days ago and we’re just here with some follow-up questions and to make sure he’s doing okay.’